


(You’re) Tearing Me Apart

by TheSchubita



Series: Death On Two Legs [5]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1984, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Maylor-centric, Supernatural Elements, but not really, talks/mentions of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSchubita/pseuds/TheSchubita
Summary: Brian has a long, overdue talk with Roger - though it's like pulling teeth from the other man. Some relevations are made that Brian could've done without.





	(You’re) Tearing Me Apart

**Author's Note:**

> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> First off, I'd like to thank @riceinthechurch on tumblr, who has been a MAJOR help in this, and has read every part dutifully, and helped name the series, as well as most parts. Please go read their fic "Pain Is So Close To Pleasure" - they're aliquis on AO3.
> 
> This was a tiny hc I originally posted on @bohemian-rhapsody-slash (KyluxFicHell on here, seriously, check out their fics too) on tumblr anonymously, and it grew legs and, well, here we are.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

Brian looks at the stormclouds hanging low from the tinted windows of the back of the cab, and thinks it’s a sort of sign that something is about to go down. He has felt bad for hanging up on Roger like that, but Chrissie – he sighs. He knows he deserves this – her fury. Their marriage lies in shambles because, simply put, he couldn’t have kept his cock in his pants when he should have, and she had to learn from a tabloid.

 

The truth – the whole truth, that is – is much more complex, and has to do with feelings he’s had long before he even met Chrissie, repressed as they were. Chrissie had been an easy, quick solution, a band-aid over a shot wound. Put plainly he’d used her – and she had used him right back.

 

He’d meant to call Roger back, as soon as Chrissie would’ve calmed down, but then John had called him, sounding –

 

Brian has never heard John sound like that. The vaguely guilty feeling he’d had when he cut Roger’s call short intensified unmeasurably as soon as John called. Something must be seriously wrong with Roger. He wants to tell the cabbie to drive faster, but refrains – barely.

 

When he arrives, John is shaking with a nervous energy Brian has never seen before. Taking a closer look at his expression, it’s fury, mixed with worry – but mostly fury. Whoever managed to piss John off has a big storm coming their way.

 

“Deaky? What’s going on?” He asks, setting down his overnight bag, like John had asked him to bring to Roger’s house. John’s fingers are running through his hair, a nervous gesture he never quite grew out of from the very early days of Queen.

 

“It’s – well, it’s not good,” John says, ushering him towards Roger’s living room. Brian notes that the house is empty, no gaggle of children brightening it – Brian feels as if the house is somehow looming over him.

 

“Did you figure out what’s happening with Roger, then?” Brian wonders. Roger has always been just a touch more – open, less intense, with John.

 

“I did,” John says seriously, looking solemn. “He needs you, right now, and I need you to stay with him.” Brian almost misses a step.

 

“What _happened_?” Brian asks, eyes wide. “You make it sound like Roger’s –?”

 

John looks like he wants to hit something, and later, he’ll have a long talk about this sudden rage John is expressing, but his mind is working overdrive trying to make head and tails of the situation.

 

“Roger was acting – strange? And you’re acting like he’s –” he can’t even say it. He’s just being paranoid. John remains quiet, and the silence, more than anything, scares him. “Deaky – _John_ , he’s not –“ he grabs John by his shoulders. “Tell me I’m fucking jumping to conclusions here –“ John sighs.

 

“It’s – complicated. And I don’t have to time, I need to go to Freddie, and I need someone to stay with him, because I _can’t risk him doing something rash and stupid_.” His voice is raised at the end of the sentence, as if he was making a point to – Roger, somewhere, in the house, apparently.

 

“John, what the _fuck is going on_ –“ Brian snaps, losing his patience. John looks at him with a strange sort of intensity.

 

“I can’t tell you – it’s not my place,” John says. Brian opens his mouth, but John raises a hand to silence him. “Also, my flight leaves in less than two hours. Just –“ John sighs. “Please, I implore you, keep an open mind – a _very_ open mind – for whatever Roger will tell you.” Brian shakes his head confusedly. He feels as if he stepped into an alternate universe.

 

“Why on earth are you going to Freddie?” Brian asks. “Did he call you? Did he call Roger? Is that why –“ John shakes his head.

 

“No,” he says. “It’s – listen Bri, I really, really need to go,” he says, and he looks harried, years older than he is. “It’s going to be fine, I promise just,” he adjusts a small travel bag on his shoulder. “Don’t let Roger out of your sight, _please_.”

 

John looks grim. Brian nods, still feels out of his depth. John steps closer then, and to Brian’s astonishment, kisses him on the cheek, close to his mouth. _Very_ close. They’d always been affectionate with each other, but – Brian’s heart thuds painfully in his chest. John looks almost shy when he leans back, all of a sudden, biting his lips.

 

“I – I need to go,” John repeats haltingly. “Give Roger time to answer, and _please_ , believe him when he does.” John begs. “I’ll help explain it, I swear I will, just be there for him and don’t let him push you away, you know how he is.”

 

Brian does. He nods, and John smiles thinly at him in gratitude. He slinks past Brian and hurries out the door, and then he’s gone. Brian tugs at a stray curl in thought, before he brushes against the spot John had just kissed. Then he straightens, and goes to find Roger.

 

It’s high time he got some answers.

 

.

 

“Rog?” he calls out into the darkened, silent hall. There’s no answer, and he steps into the living room, which is empty as well. He frowns at the shattered glass table, and then blinks at the – salt? Sugar? – decorating the windowsills. He calls for Roger again, and there’s a muffled noise from upstairs.

 

He finds Roger lying on his bed, curled up, back against the door. He gingerly sits down next to him, unsure if Roger even noticed his presence, not wanting to startle him.

 

“Rog?” He asks quietly. Roger sighs, but doesn’t turn to look at him. Brian’s finger itch to brush Roger’s hair from his face, so he can _see_ Roger – but Roger’s entire body language screams ‘do not touch me’, and Brian doesn’t know if doing so anyway would make the situation better or worse.

 

“You didn’t need to come,” Roger says finally, and he sounds dreadful, voice subdued and scratchy. “Deaky is just being a mother hen.” Roger says it as if that’s John’s modus operandi, when really, it’s Brian’s. He realizes that Roger is trying to deflect.

 

“John was scared out of his mind,” Brian says, and he winces at the lecturing tone, but strangely, Roger barely reacts. “Roger, I’m scared too, and I don’t even know what’s going on.” Roger sighs, clearly aggravated. Brian would probably fall for the attitude, if John’s word from earlier weren’t still echoing in his mind. “ _You’re_ scaring me,” he mutters, more to himself, but in the deafening silence of the house, Roger hears him. For a long, drawn out moment, they’re both quiet, until Roger sits up, and turns to face him.

 

Brian feels as if someone punched him in the gut.

 

Roger had always had a delicate look about him, but now he looks positively breakable – as if a gust of wind could snap him in half.

 

“What the fuck happened to you?” Brian blurts out – certainly not very tactful, but Roger looks like _hell_. His skin looks paper-dry and translucent, his normally vivid eyes dead and sunken in – he looked as if someone had sucked the very life out of him. “Are you – are you sick?”

 

“Would you believe me if I told you I had the flu?” Roger asks, and Brian can only gape at him. “Then, no,” Roger replies, before he gets up, or tries to, but he wobbles on unsteady legs. Brian’s hands immediately fall around his waist to steady him, and then pull him back on the bed next to him.

 

“Roger, no offense, but I don’t think you should be walking anywhere – you look like hell.” At that, Roger snorts loudly.

 

“Sounds about right,” Roger mumbles, but doesn’t attempt to get up again. Brian loosens the grip around his waist – _his way too thin waist_ – but doesn’t let go. “Listen, Bri, I don’t know what Deaky told you, but I’m fine.”

 

Brian resist the urge to shake him, seriously afraid he might break something. “I hate it when you lie to me, Roger,” he presses out through clenched teeth.

 

“Then let it be,” Roger tells him flatly.

 

“I can’t,” Brian says. “Normally, I’d rather have you not talk to me than lie to me, but –“ he trails off. Whatever is going on, it’s making something in his soul ache.

 

“How do you always know?” Roger wonders, and there is something close to a thin smile tugging at his lips. Brian can’t explain how he always knows when Roger is lying, or when Freddie is trying to hide himself behind a wall of exuberance, or when John is masking hurt with anger. As cheesy as it may sound, he thinks it’s because they have been entwined for so long – long before they even existed. He feels a constant pull, like gravity, towards all of them. He thinks them meeting had been inevitable, a design of fate, laid by his beloved stars.

 

Instead, what he says, is; “I just do.” Roger is silent for a long moment, and as good as he is in being able to tell if Roger is lying, he wishes Freddie were here – because when Roger escapes in his head, as he is now, no one but Freddie is able to tell where he is, and how to pull him back. All Brian can do is wait.

 

“What if,” Roger begins, but falls silent immediately later, biting his lips. “I don’t know how I could make you believe me,” Roger tells him, and he looks scared. “And I don’t think I should tell you.”

 

“Why not?” Brian asks softly. Roger looks at him, before he looks to the ground.

 

“You’re very soft,” Roger says, then frowns. “No, that’s not right. You’re _gentle_ , and I think out of all of us, you feel everything the most intense. Maybe too intense,” he adds. Brian barely dares to breathe, something sharp lodged in his chest. “We – _I_ – have never quite fully understood how it was possible for you to feel like that.” Roger gazes at him with something infinitely tender in his eyes. “I’m sorry if we were hard on you because we didn’t understand.”

 

“I –“ Brian clears his throat. “I mean, it’s alright I suppose, but what are you trying to say?” Brian doesn’t want to hear the answer, because he thinks a part of him already knows. He just hopes he’s wrong. Roger looks at his feet again.

 

“I think I understand now,” Roger says softly. Brian’s heart is hammering in his chest. “Bri, I am _so_ tired.” Brian opens his mouth, question on the tip of his tongue – but he realizes what Roger means a second later.

 

Brian _hurts_.

 

He wants to scream, to shake Roger, to break down. He wants to tell Roger that he’s loved, and wants to make him tell Brian he’ll never leave. Instead, he can only bring himself to utter a single word. “Why?”

 

“I – it’s all just coming to a head, and I don’t know if I feel glad about it or not. And I was ready to accept it, I really was, but then Deaky –“ Roger stops, and casts a careful glance at him. Brian’s lungs feel as if they’re on fire. “He made me promise that I’d tell you, and a part of me wants to, but – I don’t think you could believe me. I mean, I certainly wouldn’t,” Roger says quietly. “And even if you did? Nothing good would come of it.” If Brian had to pick a word to describe Roger right now, he’d have to go with ‘ _defeated’_. It’s such a stark contrast from how Roger usually shines, like a warm, bright heartbeat, that Brian finds it hard to relate the two people – Roger how he should be, and Roger as he sees him now.

 

“Then –“ Brian starts. “Then tell me something else. Tell me why Deaky went to Munich so suddenly. Or tell me why your living room looks a mess. Or even why there’s fucking salt or sugar on the windowsill,” Brian says in a rush. “Just, tell me something, please.”

 

“It was John who turned the glass table over, actually,” Roger says, and he looks distantly amused. Brian blinks.

 

“ _John_?” Brian asks, just to be sure. Roger snorts.

 

“I know, doesn’t sound like him, yeah?” It doesn’t – the one time John had thrown one of his bass guitars, he’d apologized _immediately_ after to the roadie in charge of fixing it. For John to upturn a glass table that wasn’t even his own –

 

“He must’ve been angry,” Brian says carefully.

 

“He was,” Roger agrees. Brian doesn’t bother asking why. Roger will tell him or he won’t. “I told him something that made him furious. Something I did,” he adds, as if he wants to throw Brian a bone. Brian chews on his lip, gears turning in his head.

 

“Has what you did to do with Freddie? Is that why John went to Munich?” Roger winces.

 

“Yes and no,” he says evasively. “It’s something I did a while ago.” Brian is growing more frustrated and scared by the second – Roger isn’t giving him anything of substance, and his mind is trying to outdo himself with an endless bound of ideas, one worse than the other.

 

“You know this cat-and-mouse thing isn’t doing anything for my nerves, right?” Brian says, tone forcefully light. Roger doesn’t react. “You’re not addicted to heroin or meth, are you?” Roger just shoots him a withering look. “No, I suppose not,” Brian dismisses. “Well, unless you’ve had dealings with the mafia or joined a cult, I’m officially out of ideas,” Brian says, a tad more sardonic than he intends to. Beside him, Roger goes suddenly completely still.

 

“Something like that,” Roger whispers, and Brian whips around to face him incredulously.

 

“What? You – what?” He exclaims.

 

“Well,” Roger amends. “It’s probably worse?” He laughs hollowly and Brian has the sudden urge to punch him.

 

“I hope that’s not supposed to make me feel better,” he snaps. “Roger, just fucking tell me.” Roger looks at him a bit startled – Brian doesn’t curse generally. His shoulders droop after he takes a look at Brian’s face. He hums.

 

“Ten years ago,” Roger begins haltingly. “I was scared of something that was about to happen.” He speaks so quietly Brian has to strain to hear him. “I was offered an alternative, and I – I took it.”

 

“What was happening ten years ago?” Brian asks him, and now it’s Roger’s turn to look at him incredulously.

 

“Brian, do you honestly not remember? What happened in May ten years ago?” Brian frowns, but then a second later he gets it.

 

“Oh, the hepatitis-thing,” he says. Roger scrunches up his face at him. “But – what’s that got to do with anything now?”

 

“I thought you were gonna die – we all thought we had to watch you die, Brimi,” the old, sweet nickname pulls at Brian’s heartstrings. “And I – someone asked me what I was willing to do,” he continues, and a slow feeling of dread creeps up on Brian. “And I told them I’d – I’d give up anything for you to get better.” He sniffs, and Brian wants nothing more than to pull him close, but he’s petrified of what is going to come out of Roger’s mouth next. “And I, I made a deal.”

 

“What deal?” Brian asks, voice pressed. Roger shudders.

 

“For you to get better. And I thought it was bogus, didn’t believe it would work, until it _did_.” Brian’s memory of that time is wan, hazy from the time he spent unconscious or delirious from fever, but he thinks he would remember a wonder-treatment. He had just started to feel gradually better after the infection retreated and the fever broke. He vaguely remembers Roger being upset, but then again, so had been Freddie and John.

 

“I don’t –“ he begins, but Roger reaches out to cover his hand.

 

“I don’t regret it,” Roger says. “But I thought I had longer until it caught up to me.” Brian wants to scream at him to be more concise. “And then –“ and to Brian’s horror, he can see tears gathering in his eyes. “Then I tried to call Fred.”

 

“What about Fred?” Brian asks. “Did he say something to you? Because if he did –“ Roger laughs watery.

 

“I wish,” he says. “I didn’t get to him – I got Prenter.” Brian curls his lips in distaste. “Yeah, I know,” Roger agrees when he sees Brian’s face. “Well, long story short, he told me Fred was –“ he chokes up, and now Brian feels something ugly curl in his chest. “Freddie is sick, like, really sick,” Roger says, voice wobbling.

 

“How – How sick?” Brian asks numbly. Why don’t they know this? Scratch that, why didn’t their _management_ know this? Mary?

 

“He has _It_ ,” Roger says, stone-faced.

 

Brian takes a second to absorb what Roger is saying, but then he realizes what he means. He shuts his eyes tightly in anguish.

 

“And I – I suppose I short-circuited, and did the same deal again,” Roger says slowly. “I –“

 

“So – John went to see him?” Brian says dazedly. His heart breaks when he thinks about Freddie having that _horrible_ disease. “But why – I mean, shouldn’t we all go?” Roger looks suddenly uncomfortable. “So, Deaky knows what’s going on,” Brian says, and can’t help the hurt that’s bubbling up inside of him. “You told him, but you won’t tell _me_.” Roger shoots him an unimpressed look.

 

“Deaky knows because he figured it out. Though how he could possibly know –“ Roger mumbles the second part. Brian has had enough. He stands up.

 

“So, I was sick, and now Freddie’s –“ he bites off the sentence, still reeling. “And you made some deal to – heal us? You know that’s not – that doesn’t sound very plausible.” Not if Freddie really – Roger looks up at him, before he sighs.

 

“It’s complicated,” he says hollowly. Brian bristles.

 

“You said John made you promise,” he says sternly.

 

“Yeah, under duress,” Roger stresses. “Besides, he said he could fix it?” Roger frowns to himself. “So telling you is redundant.”

 

“Oh, piss off,” Brian says sourly, but softens immediately when he turns to face Roger again. “Roger, I love you,” falls from his mouth, unbidden. He hurries to speak, not daring to wait for Roger to react. “I’m here for you. Whatever it is, I want to know. I want to _help_ ,” he says desperately. Roger looks at him with something fragile in his eyes, and he realizes what he said, how it sounded. But Roger doesn’t look put off, he looks – tentatively hopeful? Brian crouches down in front of him, and puts a hand on Roger’s knee. “Did you hear me, Rog?” He asks. “I _love_ you,” he breathes, and now that it’s out, he knows he can’t take it back, doesn’t _want_ to take it back, not with the way Roger is looking at him.

 

“Like –?” Roger wonders, voice barely audible. He’s looking at Brian unblinkingly, and for the first time since he got here, Roger’s eyes are warm. Brian takes a deep breath.

 

“Like, I am _in_ love with you.” Roger swallows back a sob. “Like I am in love with John, and Freddie.” He waits for Roger to pull back, but Roger just looks like he understands. Brian had never dared to hope, dismissed his feelings as an impossibility, but maybe, just maybe he had miscalculated that part.

 

“Oh,” Roger says dumbly, clearly shell-shocked. Brian shuffles closer, taking one of Roger’s ( _cold, so cold_ ) hands in his own.

 

“That’s why I need you to tell me what’s happening to you,” he continues. “I promise you I’ll believe you, no matter what, but I need you to not doubt me, _please_.” Because, apart from the fact that Roger could never lie to him, he’s too shaken to even attempt to. How could Brian _not_ believe him?

 

Roger speaks after a long moment. “I – it’s not that I – _doubt_ you,” he says. “I never have. It’s just –“ he looks up to the ceiling with an anguished expression. “You shouldn’t have to know,” he finishes, before he looks at Brian with a mournful look. “I can’t take it from you once I tell you.”

 

“Whatever you did, it has to do with me, yeah?” Brian says, and Roger nods. “And it was _for_ me?” Again, he nods, but reluctantly this time. “Then if it’s causing you so much trouble, how can you think I wouldn’t want you to share it?” He wonders.

 

“I don’t want to do this to you,” Roger replies, stubborn until the end. Brian decides it’s time to fight dirty.

 

“And what if it was me?” Brian prods. “If our places were reversed, and I’d keep something from you and I’d suffer from it, and left you unable to help because I wouldn’t _let_ you?”

 

Roger exhales, and with it, Brian can see the last shred of resolve crumble. Inwardly, he cheers.

 

“You really know where to hit where it hurts, huh?” Roger mutters. Brian remains perfectly still. “Fine,” Roger sighs, free hand rubbing his face tiredly. “I sold my soul for you. And Fred,” he says evenly. “There, I said it.”

 

Brian’s mind goes blank for a moment. When he manages to grasp what Roger just said to him, his first reaction is to laugh hysterically. The rational part of his brain is screaming at him about impossibilities, about how this can’t be right, can’t be anything but a sick, tasteless prank, but then he looks at Roger, sees the tension in his frame, ready to bolt, like some frightened animal. And with everything that just went down the past hour or so, everything that John told him, and with Roger looking like that, he –

 

Brian believes him.

 

But that also means a myriad of horrible and terrifying things, but most of all –

 

 _"_ Roger, how could you? Your – your _soul_?" Brian’s eyes well up with tears, and he holds Roger’s face in his hands tenderly, stroking over his cheekbones over and over again. Roger looks stunned, eyes wide.

 

“You believe me?” he asks faintly.

 

“I told you I would,” his voice cracks, and he can’t help the tears that start spilling down his cheeks. “But, why would you – how _could_ you?”

 

"Brian –" Roger says, helplessly. "I – how could I _not_? It was your _life_."

 

"No," Brian says, shaking his head. "Don’t you – this isn’t – this is too much, I –“ he chokes on his words. This is going to break him. This is going to kill him. “And you did it again for Fred? Do you honestly not _care_ about yourself?"

 

"I do," Roger says quietly, looking away. "I just – I love you – love all of you, so much – I couldn’t. Not then, not now."

 

Brian sobs, his arms coming around Roger’s thin frame ( _when in the world had he gotten so thin_?) to hold him tightly to his chest. He hides his face in Roger’s hair, and lets himself just cry it out. Roger brings his arms up slowly to return the hug.

 

Brian hates everything about this. Hearing those words should have been a good moment, stellar even, should have happened years ago, and maybe now Brian knows why Roger always had seemed to pull back in himself in those rare moments where something more might have come of it.

 

“How – how long have you got left?” Brian knows very little about the mythology around this, and what little he does know is from movies or books is probably horribly off but that had always stuck out. Roger hums.

 

“Something over two days,” Roger sighs into his shoulder. Brian keens, a high, wailing sound coming from the back of his throat. “But, uh –“ Brian can feel Roger shrug against his chin. “Apparently, John says he can fix it?” Brian pulls back to look at him with a frown, but doesn’t let go.

 

“What do you mean?” He asks. But then he remembers John’s words from earlier, and maybe – If anyone can find a way out of this, it’s John.

 

“Deaks seems to be full of surprises,” Roger says, and something of his usual mischief bleeds into his tone.

 

“I still have a hard time wrapping my head around all this,” Brian says honestly. Roger looks contrite, squinting as he bites his lip.

 

“I’m sorry Brian,” he says eventually. Brian moves one of his hands from his waist to cup his cheek again.

 

“You should be,” he says softly. Roger grimaces.

 

“I know, I shouldn’t have told you,” he replies. Brian shakes his head.

 

“Oh no, you should have absolutely told me, you daft sod,” he says sternly. “In fact, you should have told me ten years ago.”

 

“But –“ Roger looks at him. “You’re angry, and –“

 

“– And devastated,” Brian interrupts. “Because if you think for even a _second_ I would have wanted this, you really are a dumb blond.” Roger glowers at him. “And yes, I am angry,” he adds, softer. “I’m angry at you, but mostly, at myself.” He squeezes Roger’s waist gently, before he presses their foreheads together. “If John doesn’t find a way to fix it, I will,” he tells Roger solemnly.

 

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Roger replies. “I don’t want to mess with – uh, fate? any more than I already did.”

 

“Well I’m certainly not going to let anything happen to _you_ ,” Brian says fiercely. His hand falls to the back of Roger’s neck, where he plays with the short, fine hair there. His brow still resting against Roger’s he looks him in the eyes. “We’re going to wait for John to come back with Freddie. If they don’t, we’ll go get them. And once they’re back, we’re all going to have a _long_ talk with each other.” Roger stiffens at the last words, and tries to pull away. “No,” Brian says, gripping his neck and hip tightly. “Don’t pull away from me – from this. We should’ve all talked about a great many things a long time ago.”

 

“I’m not sure it can be fixed,” Roger admits. “It would be grand if it all just magically went away but I don’t want you or Fred to –“ he goes quiet, grimaces. “You know,” he says lamely, waving his hand awkwardly. Brian wants to continue being angry at him, but he knows the anger is just a surface emotion masking what he really feels – regret and anguish and _fear_. Fear for Roger, and for Freddie, and what’s going to happen. He presses even closer, their noses brushes, and a part of him wants to –

 

 _No_ , he thinks to himself. _This isn’t the right moment. Not without Fred or Deaky here_.

 

“Whatever happens,” he says softly, firmly. “I won’t let you go.” _Not ever_.

 

Roger lets out a stuttering breath, but for the first time, he looks hopeful.

 

 _Fate can kiss my fucking arse_.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of an ongoing series that's already written and finished and already on a posting schedule - always updates on Thursdays!
> 
> I'd love to hear what you thought - Comments are love ♥
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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